Quiet moments
by Connan-l
Summary: A collection of unrelated short one-shots containing interactions between two The House in Fata Morgana characters.
1. Michel and Maria

**Chapter 1: ****Michel and Maria**

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**Notes:** I just love making characters who wouldn't normally interact, well, interact — and I also love giving attention to side and minor characters no one care about, so that's how it happened. I wrote this on a whim and have no idea when I'll be able to update it though, so don't expect anything from me.

This will take place literally anywhere among the main game, _Requiem_ and _Reincarnation_, so beware of spoilers!

I used the 'Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings' on AO3 just by precaution, but I don't think there will be much to warn about, really. And if there _is_, I'll put a content warning on top of the chapter anyway.

Takes place during Door 8, after Yukimasa told his story and Michel went to speak with Maria.

**Content Warnings: Very brief mentions of child prostitution, child abuse and suicidal ideation.**

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Maria sat next to him and started talking, as promised. Despite being her usual assertive, confident self, she seemed a bit reluctant to discuss about her past — not because she was especially distrustful of Michel (although she still seemed pretty skeptical about everything he had told her), but because it just was her nature, he guessed. Given she was a young woman who grew up alone in a poor, dangerous district, it was only to be expected.

"I'm not actually born in this country, y'know?" She said suddenly.

"You're not?" Michel asked, but he was not all that surprised. After all, Maria had been an Italian woman in the third door, so although a lot of things had changed in this era, it wasn't odd that she wasn't French.

"Yeah. I don't really remember much about my hometown, though. I left when I was like, five or six maybe. My family… I think they must've been merchants or something, and they were travelling here for business. But they got into an accident and died. I had no one else, so I went into an orphanage here. I was a newly-orphaned foreign kid who barely spoke the language at all, so it was pretty rough at first…" She smirked. "But that's when I met Pauline. She was a foreigner too, so although we didn't come from the same country, I think maybe we felt some sort of kinship and that's why we ended up clinging to each other…"

Michel tried to picture the two little girls in his mind; a mischievous six-year-old Maria and a tiny Pauline awkwardly following her around, none of them truly speaking the other's languages but still trying to understand and play together… This mental image made him smile gently.

"Then you know the rest. Got fed up with the orphanage, ran away, ended up here and started working at the brothel… but anyway, you wanted to hear about Morgana, right? Bet you don't care much about some ol' whore's childhood, haha."

She laughed light-heartedly — as if she was talking about someone else, a character in a story, and not about her own difficult past. Michel winced instinctively, and hoped it didn't show too much on his face. Maria had already briefly told them earlier about the abuse she experienced at the orphanage and that she became a prostitute when she was still just a young child. This life seemed so detached and so far away from the one he had lived that he struggled to imagine what it must've been like.

"There were… no other options for you at the time?" He asked softly, tentatively. "Maybe you could've gone to another orphanage, or…"

Maria narrowed her eyes with an annoyed expression, and Michel understood immediately he had said something insensitive.

"_Which_ options?" She snapped back. "No way on earth I would've gone to _another_ orphanage, I was done with that shit. It was the brothel or starving on the fucking street, so the choice was quickly made. Not everyone can be a noble rolling in dough like you, my dude."

"Wha— How do you know I'm a noble?"

"Well, you just have that aura, you know? Your manners, the way you speak, you seem well-educated… You're like that cute blonde pipsqueak — it's just obvious we don't live in the same sphere."

Michel wondered if it really was that obvious, or if Maria was just very acute. Maybe it was both. He remembered, centuries ago, that Giselle had told him something similar, too — that he had a 'regal' aura, though back then he could never say if she was teasing him or if she was serious.

"I really… don't consider my life to be that bad," Maria whispered, her voice unusually quiet. "I mean, obviously it's not _great_. I've been through some shitty times, I won't deny that. I certainly wouldn't complain if one day my good pal God took pity in me and decided to make me rich."

She looked up in front of her — towards the horizon, her eyes vacant, and started to rub her naked arms. Michel couldn't tell if it was because she was cold or because she tried to comfort herself from some bad memories.

"But… the simple fact that I am still alive right now makes me feel pretty damn lucky. Not everyone can say the same. So many of my friends — good, nice folks — didn't get the same chance…"

The more he listened to her, and the more Michel felt kind of… uneasy. Had he ever felt like he was 'lucky' to be alive? Even during his darkest times, when he was locked up in his room at the Bollinger estate or during the ten years living in that haunted mansion, he couldn't remember a moment where just the fact to be alive felt like a blessing. It rather felt like a curse, honestly. He couldn't count the number of times he thought about dying, about all the times he almost made a suicide attempt — but how every time, old, fond childhood recollections of his brothers would come flocking back and make him hope that, maybe, just maybe, things could get better. But the idea that others may have had worse than him — like the dead girl who he tried to ignore for years and never attempted to understand, because understanding her would mean actually seeing her like a person and not like a formless cackling witch — thus that he should feel lucky never once crossed his mind. Back then, he was way too deep into his own pain and suffering that it never seemed relevant — until he met Giselle, that is.

And now that he thought about it… Michel certainly couldn't say he had an easy childhood by any stretch of the imagination — especially not after his fourteen years old — but he still had been lucky enough to have been born into a noble and rich family. Aside from those two terrible years he spent being abused by Aimée, he couldn't recall a time where he felt hungry or missed of anything. The same couldn't be said of Maria.

Maybe she truly was good at reading people, because she seemed to instantly guess his train of thoughts and added: "Hey now, I didn't say that to guilt-trip you or anything. I'm not interested in pity, anyway."

"I wasn't…"

She sighed. "If you nobles really feel so bad, then actually do something and use your power and money for a good cause, instead of ruminating. Some peeps could _really_ need that."

"Well… I am technically… not exactly a noble anymore…"

"Oh?"

"I was disowned." _And then I was killed_, he thought. _But I can't exactly tell her that._ "So I don't have any power anymore. Though… even back then, I never had any actual power… everything was decided by my father and older brothers…"

"Hmm… Is that so… That sucks," she declared, before crossing her arms. "So you had brothers?"

"Yes, but…" He took a deep breath. "We… something happened, and… They…"

Michel hesitated. Should he really start talking about himself right now? To _Maria_, of all people, who he only (technically) first met yesterday? But then he looked at the woman next to him in the eyes, who was silently and attentively listening to him. And he felt the need to continue.

"They betrayed me. And… they're dead now. They died… a long time ago…"

He felt his chest tightening as soon as he mentioned his brothers, and his hands trembling a little. Maybe he shouldn't have started talking about them after all. Mell and Nellie's debacle had already reawakened some bad memories, and right now he needed to stay focused on Morgana and Giselle and—

Suddenly, he felt a soft, comforting pressure on his shoulder. When he turned around, he saw Maria looking at him with understanding green eyes as she was gently holding his shoulder, like an old friend would do.

"I dunno what happened to you exactly, so sorry if I asked something I shouldn't have…"

"No, it's fine…"

Maria looked away, wincing a little. "Though I… can relate. I had… well, I'm an only child, but… I did have someone I considered a brother once. And he… also betrayed me."

Michel frowned, and was going to ask her more details… but then Maria looked at him and smiled.

"He died a long time ago too."

It was… a strange smile. There was something nostalgic in it. Bitter, maybe. But also tender. Gentle. It wasn't a smile he'd ever thought he'd see on the face of that rambunctious woman.

"I'm… sorry," he said, stupidly, not being able to think something more eloquent.

She shrugged. "It's okay. Like I said, it was a long time ago. I'm over it now."

Michel could tell by the way she looked away and the sound of her voice that it was a lie. Maybe it hurt less — just like the intense pain of his brothers' betrayal had slowly faded with time. But it wasn't something you could just 'get over.'

"Well, your brothers were idiots," she suddenly said, and Michel arched an eyebrow.

"What?"

"It sounds like it'd be nice to have you as a brother, so they must've been idiots to betray you. I mean, you seem like a handful, but I'm sure I'd have a lot of fun teasing you. Too bad I wasn't born as your sis. In another life maybe?"

Maria gently punched Michel in the shoulder with a wide grin and a wink, which earned him a chuckle. He wondered how much his life would have changed if he had had a sister in it, especially a sister like Maria. Would it have made things better? Or worse?

He couldn't tell. However, he certainly wouldn't refuse to have her as a sibling in another life.


	2. Mell and Giselle

**Chapter 2: ****Mell and Giselle**

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**Notes:** Takes place five years before the events of Door 1, in 1598 (so Mell is twelve).

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He ran up the long corridor, his eyes searching left and right. He didn't have much time. He had to find it now, or else it would be all over.

He had been living in this mansion for several years now, and he knew most of its corners and recesses. But so did his sister — no, actually, she knew them even _better_ than him. Despite her princess-like behavior and her strict noble lady upbringing, she had always been quite the adventurer — much more than him, who preferred to stay inside and read books than play outside — so of course she generally loved to spend her time running around in their domain and finding all its little nooks and hideouts, to their mother's chagrin.

His legs suddenly came to a stop when he realized that in his hastiness, he had penetrated a place he wasn't so familiar with. He had run until the far east of the house, in a dark, isolated place, which instantly made him shiver. He knew this place — a long time ago, when they had just moved in the manor, he had wandered here… or it would be more exact to say that his sister had dragged him in her first enthusiastic exploration of their new home. Their parents had scolded them quite badly for this, and forbidden them to ever go here again. Apparently, it was a place their grandfather had condemned once he renovated the mansion, and as such no one was allowed to go there anymore.

He had always been an obedient and serious child, so he had no intention of misbehaving. His first thought was that he should get out of here before anyone notice him and he got scolded again, but…

But for some reason, his feet refused to move. They were stuck on the ground as his eyes suddenly caught sight of the end of the corridor.

The entire place was dark and eerie, no one had come here in years and it was extremely unpleasant and unwelcoming, far from being somewhere anyone would like to stay. However, there was something about it that was… strangely captivating to the boy. He had never considered himself like a brave person at all — far from it — and a voice inside his head kept screaming at him to run away from here right now… Yet, without knowing why, and before he could even think more about it, he started to walk again and head straight in front of him. As expected, all of the walls, ceiling and floor were old and decrepit, covered in spider webs and scratches and dust, but that didn't stop him. When he reached the end of the hallway, he found an ancient, big, decayed door. Gathering all of his strengths, he pushed it, and in a disturbing loud sound, the door opened.

The first thing he saw was a strange dazzling light among the darkness, and it took him quite some time for his eyes to adapt to it. He blinked a few time, and narrowing his eyes, he finally noticed he was in a huge, spacious room. A large, majestic stained-glass enthroned at the very end of the place, which seemed to represent an angel. Once his sight stopped stinging because of the strange lighting of the room, he next realized that he was standing in what looking like a chapel.

"What is… something like that doing here…?"

This was so weird. He had never thought a chapel would ever be in a mansion, even less so the one that had been his home for years now. Was that the reason his grandfather had condemned the place? No, why had a chapel been constructed inside a _manor_ in the first place?

The more he stayed there, staring at the angel stained-glass, and the more an odd uneasiness began to take root into his heart. He felt… an unsettling familiarity to this place. As if… he had been _there_ before, and this thought made his heart feel heavy and his stomach turn. But that didn't make any sense — he was certain he had never put a single foot in this chapel until now, he didn't even know its existence.

Then he suddenly realized this wasn't actually the first time he experienced this sensation — when he first arrived in this mansion, just after his grandfather's passing, he also felt like he… sort of already knew this house. It was as if… he had lived here before, maybe. But that had never been the case. His father had always been on bad terms with his own parent, so the only time he had seen his grandfather was for his sister's birth, and he certainly never got the occasion to visit him here when he was still alive. It was uncomfortable. Creepy. It made him want to run away, and maybe he would have done so at the time if it hadn't been for his sister's presence next to his side. So what—

"Oh my. If that isn't the young master."

A velvety, feminine voice reverberated from behind. The boy gasped, and quickly turned around. There, a silhouette seemed to move amongst the shadows. Fear instantly overwhelmed him, and he froze in place. The figure stepped forward, then finally emerged from the obscurity to take place in front of the stained-glass angel.

It was a woman, all in black and purple and green.

In this dark eerie place, and with her skin as pale as ivory, she looked like a ghost.

The Maid giggled.

"Did I scare you? I apologize, Lord Mell. I had no intention of frightening you like this."

She laughed again, and for some reason Mell thought that she very much had intended to frighten him. This woman had always scared him ever since he first met her in the rose garden years ago. Apparently, she had been quite a loyal servant to his grandfather, but that didn't matter much to him. He was generally doing his best to avoid her at all cost, but here, in this unearthly, sinister chapel, where there was only the two of them, there was no way he could just escape from her, and he cursed his fate for that.

"What were you doing here all alone, young master? Were you lost?"

"I-I, uh… I was playing hide-and-seek with Nellie…" The boy stammered, unable to look at the lady in the eyes. His eyes scanned the door behind him with envy. Maybe he could just make a run for it, get out of this abandoned place and never approach it ever again. But his feet still refused to listen to him.

"Hmm… Hide-and-seek, is it?"

When she repeated his words, Mell suddenly felt his cheeks heat up. It was actually a bit embarrassing to admit it out loud… The boy kept thinking recently that he was starting to be too old to play these kinds of games, but whenever Nellie looked up at him with her big honeyed eyes, begging him in a small, cute voice, Mell just couldn't say no to his adorable little sister.

He eyed the Maid from the corner of his eyes. She seemed lost in thoughts, as if him mentioning this childish game had truly made her reconsider her life.

"What… What about it?" He asked, cautiously.

She looked down at him, her frozen smile the same as always. "Nothing," she answered. "It is just… um, I think that… a long, long time ago, I used to play that game too…"

Mell tilted his head. "A long time ago? When you were a child?"

"Yes. I used to gather with the neighborhood kids and my sister, and…"

But then her voice trailed and her gaze became vacant. Her eyes seemed to stare at something that didn't exist, and for the first time since Mell had met her, her expression seemed to falter a little. Her eternal smile fell from her lips, and an unreadable emotion spread on her face instead.

"I…" She muttered. "I… do not really remember…"

And, strangely enough, seeing this… reassured Mell.

Maybe it was because it was the first time this indifferent person seemed to have some sort of reaction, instead of being the perfect servant she always was.

For the first time, she appeared… a little bit human. A little bit alive.

And maybe this oddity gave the boy some unusual courage, because he took a step forward and asked in a hesitant voice:

"Is… Is something wrong?"

But the Maid didn't answer. It was as if she hadn't even heard him at all. Her glassy jade eyes seemed to still be lost in bygone recollections.

Up until now, Mell had only ever felt uneasiness and fear towards this impenetrable woman. He found her so disturbing that he had even wished more than once that his father could fire her. But she was a flawless servant, so there was no reason why his family would want to get rid of such a hard worker employee.

However, here, he felt some sort of… concern. Right now, she didn't look so much like the cold lady of marble he had known her as, but more like… a helpless lost child, who tried to grasp at some old memories, some past that was long lost behind her.

"Are… you okay…?"

So taking another step forward, he tried to reach out to her again. But he didn't get any more response. She truly seemed to be in another world than him.

Mell had never been a courageous person.

In fact, no matter what Nellie might think of him, he really was more of a coward. He had enough self-awareness to know that much.

However, in this instant, some braveness he had no idea where it was coming from pushed him behind his back. And so, he extended his arm, and slowly grabbed the woman's hand.

This finally seemed to snap her out of her daydream. She looked down on where their fingers were intertwined. Her hand was bigger and much colder than his — as cold as ice, as a corpse. Mell had the sensation he was he was touching the skin of a dead body.

But in spite of this perturbing thought, in spite of his trembling fingers, he still didn't let go.

The Maid kept looking at their hands. It was as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. As if no one had ever held her hand like that.

"Your hand…"

It was a whisper, barely audible at all.

"Your hand… is small… and warm."

This sounded like such an innocent comment that Mell couldn't help but smile at this.

"Yes," he replied, with the same gentle voice he used only around his little sister. "Yours is really cold though."

"It is."

She then paused, and after narrowing her eyes, added:

"It has been a long time since anyone has held my hand like this…"

"Really? I hold hands all the time with Nellie. Well, she's always asking for it."

Mell chuckled, a bit embarrassed, and then he saw the woman's face softening. A small, vague smile blossomed on her lips, and this stole his breath away.

The Maid always smiled. Even when his father scolded severely the servants, even when she was overwhelmed with work, even when Nellie threw tantrums at her over some silly, unimportant detail. She never ceased to smile, so this shouldn't be a shock to him at all.

This smile, however, seemed somewhat… different.

It seemed… genuine. Endeared.

"I know," she said gently.

"O-Oh…"

She then turned around, without letting go of Mell's hand, and looked over at the angel stained-glass.

"It was around here too, the last time someone held my hand. In this mansion. We ran through this chapel, and then…"

Once again, her voice trailed, and she stopped.

Then she looked at the boy, and this time, her plastic smile was back in place, as if the expression he had seen on her the instant before had just been a mirage.

"But it was a long time ago. It does not matter anymore."

She slowly raised her arm, and with her free hand, she patted Mell's pretty flaxen hair. It was a mechanic gesture, but there was some sort of warmth in it.

"Let me escort you back, young master. There is no way Lady Nellie could find you out here, and she will get worried if she does not."

Mell grimaced. Right, _Nellie_. He had been so taken in the moment that he had basically forgotten about his sister. She would get really angry if she learned about this.

"Y-Yes…"

The Maid smiled again, but there was no trace of genuineness in this one. She still hadn't let go of his hand though, and with slow steps she guided the boy towards the condemned door of the chapel. Mell looked up at her once more.

She seemed to have definitely retreated back to her usual self. Traces of the lost child or of the warm gentle smile he had seen a minute ago had completely disappeared, as if it had never existed. Maybe it truly had been a mirage, after all…

"What…" For some reason, this thought process made his chest feel tight, so he raised his voice to stop thinking about it. "What were you doing here?"

"How come?"

"I mean, I told you what I was doing here, but what about you? What were you doing here all alone?"

"Oh…" She giggled eerily, which sent chills in Mell's back. "Well, you see… this mansion is cursed. But this chapel is the only place that feels pure and free of hatred. So from time to time, I come here… to meditate, I suppose."

She looked down at him, then put a finger on her lips.

"It is a secret, though. So do not tell it to anyone, all right?"

"R-Right…"

Mell looked away, uncomfortable. What they had shared just a moment ago definitely seemed like an illusion now. Maybe he had even imagined the whole thing, he thought. There was no way that this creepy and cold woman could ever smile warmly and have a tender expression like that.

When they finally reached the door, Mell glanced one last time at the stained-glass. The angel looked just the same as when he first came here.

His implacable gaze made the boy shiver, so he quickly turned around, as if hoping that doing so would prevent the angel from inflicting judgment on him.


	3. Odilon and Morgana

**Chapter 3: **

**Odilon and Morgana**

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**Notes:** Takes place after _Reincarnation_**.**

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He let out a deep sigh as soon as he stepped into the street. It was noon and the sun was bright and high in the sky, illuminating Paris' buildings like a theater stage. This was quite a warm, beautiful weather, despite the fact they were still in early March. Usually, at this time of the year, the capital was still very gray and cold.

Odilon was certainly not going to complain, though. It was always more agreeable to get out of work under a bright sun than under dark clouds.

He had at least two hours to eat before going back to his job today, which was quite a lot of time to spare, and he couldn't decide where to get his lunch yet. To be honest, he would've liked to stay at the office for working a bit more — there was always too much to do, too much details to finish off — but his coworker, a sweet young woman with clear brown eyes, had gently pushed him to stop and take a break. Odilon was not tired in the slightest — but because of his old age it was quite common that his younger colleagues and subordinates worry about him and try to dispense him of a work overload.

Odilon appreciated them for that, he really did, but he was still a deputy of Paris and the big amount of labor that came with it was something he had expected upon taking the position, so sometimes it was a bit exasperating to have them treat him as if he was made of glass. It was true he was getting quite old — he had been asked more than once when he intended to retire as most people his age already had by now — and while Odilon had considered it a few times in the last past years, he still felt unable to give up his job just yet. His age was taking a bit of a toll on him at times, certainly — but he was still in good health and unless someone was going to throw rocks at his head or something, he was far from being on his deathbed.

The man slowly strolled the streets, looking distractedly at the various passerby who pressed down on the pavement. Voices, klaxons, squeaks and laughters — all blended in together to form the very usual cacophony of the capital of France. Odilon wasn't actually born in Paris, he came from a smaller city in the west, but he had been living here since he was a teenager so this noise had always felt familiar and like home to him. As he reached a shop in front of the closest metro station to buy a light meal, something red caught his gaze and he stopped.

On the next street was standing a young girl with long burgundy braids. For some reason, a chill ran down Odilon's spine upon seeing her, as if he had been electrocuted. His head started to hurt, and he had to massage his temples to soothe the pain — yet his eyes couldn't let go of the girl. She seemed to be a teenager and was wearing a lengthy dress which looked quite old-fashioned for someone her age. She had a map in her hands as she was frowning and looking right and left, and it didn't need to be a genius to understand that she probably was unaccustomed to this district and was lost.

Odilon was sure he had never seen this person in his life before, and yet, an odd feeling of familiarity he couldn't explain overwhelmed him at her sight. He stayed stuck in place for a moment, hesitating about what to do. Ordinarily, he would've simply ignored her and continued his path, but he felt a strange urge to go talk to her that he couldn't get rid of. As if he would miss a very unique occasion if he didn't do so. And too bothered by that nonsensical feeling, he finally decided to walk up to her slowly and raise his voice.

"Could it be that you are lost, miss?"

The girl almost jumped back at the sound of his voice, and looked at him with wide eyes of an unusual clear golden color. She seemed a bit caught off guard for a moment, but finally replied.

"Ah… um, well, yes," she admitted, looking a little bashful. "It's the first time I come around here…"

"I see," Odilon replied with a smile. "That's understandable. What are you looking for?"

"Hum, a university. There should be one around here, but… I can't find it…"

"A college, huh? Well, there is indeed one quite close from here." Odilon hummed pensively, then looked at his watch. It was 12:10. He still had more than enough time. "Would you like me to show you the way?"

She eyed him with perplexity. "You would? For a complete stranger?"

Odilon wasn't sure what she found particularly suspicious about an elderly man in a suit offering her to show her the way, but he couldn't help but chuckle a little at her scepticism.

"Yes, I would."

"But aren't you busy?"

"Not at the moment, and if we're talking about the same university then it is pretty close."

"Is that so… in that case, I accept gladly. Thank you very much."

She thanked him in such a polite, elegant way that it made Odilon smile, and then they started to walk side by side, with him leading the way.

"So why do you want to find that college?" He finally asked. The girl was pretty small and thin and just looked a bit too young to want to go at a university, so he couldn't help but be curious.

"I'm going to apply there next year, normally," the girl replied evasively.

So she was older than he'd thought… He would've given her no more than fifteen upon first impression. Though if she was going to apply next year that meant she was currently still in high school nevertheless.

He nodded. "That's a good choice, then. I've heard this place is a very good school."

"Well, hopefully it'd be worth the time it took me to find it," she replied sharply while browsing the map in her hands.

"If I might ask," Odilon started cautiously. "Why did you come here with an actual map? Most young people these days would simply use their cellphones to guide them."

"I don't have a cellphone."

This wasn't an answer he had expected. Even Odilon, who hadn't grown up with this technology and wasn't fond of it, _had_ a cellphone — and used it quite frequently at that, though it was mostly because his political obligations forced him to.

"That's quite unusual," he finally remarked.

"Michel— I mean, a friend of mine keep telling me I should get one. But I just don't think I would really use it. Well, except to play games I guess, that could be nice for that…"

"I'm sure you must have friends and family you'd like to join regularly once you graduate, no?"

The girl shrugged, but didn't reply and just stayed silent. Odilon understood she didn't want to say anymore about this, so he tried to switch the topic — but no matter what he would ask she generally just hummed pensively for all answers. So she wasn't the kind of person who was good at making conversation, huh. Well, after all, he wasn't the conversational type either, and he certainly wouldn't force this closed off teen girl to talk to an old geezer she had just met on the street a few minutes ago.

Thus in the end they kept walking in silence, side by side, with only Paris' usual disharmonious orchestra to keep them company. But strangely enough, it wasn't awkward. Odilon hadn't had the occasion to talk to a kid in years at least — not since he had last seen his own children, and the youngest people he would came across were generally at least in their mid-twenties — so he thought such a situation would be uncomfortable to him, but at the contrary, he experienced a strange feeling of solace as he perambulated quietly the capital's streets with this young girl. It was something very disparate with his usual routine, but it felt nice, in an odd way. At least it did to him — he hoped the girl didn't feel uneasy by the situation.

Finally, after a good fifteen minutes of walk, Odilon stopped and raised his arm.

"It's there," he declared, indicating a massive building built in the unique, solemn way that only Paris' oldest architecture had.

"Oh, right, it's the one," the girl declared after reading quickly the street's name and concurring it with the map in her hands.

Her expression softened and her eyes brightened a little, as if she was relieved the old man had truly kept his words and guided her at her destination without any issues. Once again, Odilon questioned whether it was the girl who was naturally of a suspicious nature or if he really did seem that shady.

"Well, thank you for your help," she said in a distant, courteous voice, before turning away and starting to head towards the university.

As she did, long red hair flied in front of Odilon's eyes, and for a moment he felt his vision blur and his head turn. The landscape seemed to change brutally and the soil melt under his feet, and instead of being in the middle of one of the biggest cities of the world peppered of cars and pedestrians, he was in a mansion. Odilon had never set a foot in a mansion in his entire life, he was sure of it — and he especially doubted he'd ever set a foot in _this_ mansion that looked like it had just came out of the middle-ages. But his mind didn't have the time to understand anything that a man with black hair and mad-fueled eyes slowly walked towards an altar — an altar where a child with red hair was tied up and covered in blood and dying, as he just watched on in silence from afar—

An arm stretched and grabbed a wrist. The girl rotated in surprise. Gold eyes pierced him. The exact same golden eyes as the ones belonging to the bloodied child on the altar.

"I-I…" Odilon spluttered — something extremely uncharacteristic of him, as he was normally always composed and in control of himself, but his mind couldn't unravel what had just happened or what he was thinking or why he had grabbed the girl's wrist. "Do I… know you?"

The sentence escaped his mouth before he could even understand its meaning, and he likely was just as confused as the girl seemed. Why had he asked that? He was perfectly aware he had never met this kid in his life before, and yet, the words continued to spill from lips as if they had a will of their own.

"You… You are vaguely familiar to me… Did we met before, um… when you were younger… Yes, I have the feeling I have seen you before when you were just a small child…"

The teenager in front of him frowned, and for a moment her face seemed unreadable. It was as if… she was genuinely considering his question and was trying to search through her memories. But finally, she shook her head.

"No, not to my knowledge…"

Of course she didn't know him, because Odilon didn't know her either, and he was sure he would've remembered meeting a little girl with such peculiar gold eyes and burgundy hair.

(Especially a bloodied little girl tied up on an altar in a mansion.)

Odilon finally let go of the young lady's hand and chuckled a little, in an attempt to diffuse the general unease that had taken hold of him and hoping the girl now really didn't think he was a dubious character. Maybe he _truly_ was starting to get senile, after all.

But she didn't seem all that affected by his odd attitude, and instead her expression even appeared a little bit more softer than earlier.

"Well then, I'll get going now," she declared, and Odilon still felt too stunned to be able to reply anything to her.

She started to walk away, her dress and braids fluttering at each of her steps, when she suddenly stopped and turned around once again.

"My name is Morgana," she abruptly announced. "What is yours?"

"Odilon," he replied reflexively.

"Hmm," the girl hummed thoughtfully, as if she was registering the name slowly. "All right. Thank you for showing me the way here, Odilon. Good bye."

And then she crossed the streets and headed towards the building. Odilon kept staring at her until her red hair disappeared entirely behind the university's door. He shook his head, still unable to make sense of the tight feeling in his chest or the image of that dying child that refused to leave his mind, before finally sighing. He didn't know what it had all been about, but maybe his coworkers were right and he needed to be more watchful of his health. Yes, he was just tired, that must've been it. No need to obsess over such ludicrous products of his brain, or over such a brief encounter that he would likely quickly forget.

It had been quite an unexpected break from his normal routine, maybe even a surprisingly agreeable one, but at the end of the day it was just an atypical small event in the whole of his monotonous days.


End file.
